On Weasels and Ink Stains
by Emma Scamander
Summary: Harry comes out to Ron, and Ron's totally fine with it. Really. As long as Harry doesn't fancy... oh, bloody hell. All Ron wanted to do was finish his History of Magic essay. Total fluff. Implied slash NOT between Ron and Harry.


**A/N: Just a random little one shot, and my first attempt at total fluff. All comments appreciated! Reviews really make my day.**

Ron Weasley's quill was a white blur as he scribbled over his parchment at an inhuman speed. His lips moved silently as he worked, mouthing the words as he went. "Harry, it's useless! I've still got a foot and a half left. Read what I have, will you?" Ron glanced up at the tufts of black hair sprouting from an obscenely large book about Quidditch fouls. "Harry!"

"What? Oh," Harry lowered the book and peered over its top quizzically, green eyes blinking. "I'm sure it's fine, Ron."

Ron's shoulders slumped as he let out a dramatic groan. He thrust his essay at his friend. "Just have a look at it, will you?"

Sighing, Harry grabbed the parchment and scanned it. "Are these supposed to be letters?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the scratches and blobs of ink smattered over the parchment. "Or is this for Ancient Runes?"

"Sod off," snapped Ron, and quickly snatched back his essay.

"Go find Hermione," suggested Harry, raising the book again until he was once more an unruly tuft of hair.

Rosy color spread across Ron's cheeks at the mention of her name, giving him the impression that he was slowly roasting. "She hasn't spoken to me since the whole Lavender thing started."

The tuft of hair danced wildly as Harry shook his head. "That's why I try to stay on her good side, _Won-Won_. I would have failed that essay if it weren't for her."

Ron turned back to his essay, his face drooping in a hopeless frown. "I'm going to fail! You'd think Binns would be a bit more senile. Do you know anything about the Goblin Rebellion of 1387?"

There was a rustling as Harry flipped a page in his book. "Don't you mean 1342? Or are you thinking of the one in 1487?"

"Bloody hell," Ron's head dropped.

Harry peeked over his book again. "Ron, I have something to tell you."

"Does it involve goblins?" said Ron, bent over his parchment.

"Not exactly,"

A wounded-sounding moan exited Ron's throat as he slammed his History of Magic textbook shut, sending clouds of dust swirling into the air. A table of Ravenclaws shot him death-glares at the sound. "That's the first time I've opened that textbook this year." he said, gazing mournfully at the tired-looking book, stained and worn from having already been passed down through five Weasley brothers.

"Ron, this is important." Harry dog-eared the page he was on and set down his book, shifting in his seat.

"What is it, mate?" asked Ron.

Harry bit his lip. "Well, you see, I'm, er, _bent_."

A pair of orange eyebrows shot up on Ron's freckled forehead. "… forwards?" he said slowly.

His friend ran a nervous hand through his untamable hair, patting it down in vain. "_No_," he said forcefully, drawing more _shush_es from the Ravenclaws. His voice dropped down to a whisper. "I mean, I'm gay."

Ron's complexion blanched to a color that was slightly healthier than Nearly Headless Nick's. "You mean… you like boys? As in you _like _boys?"

"Well, yes, that is what being gay and a male generally ent-"

As quickly as Ron's color had left his face, it returned in a bright scarlet bloom over his face, rising to all the way to the tips of his ears. "You don't know that! How do you know that? Have you told Hermione?"

Harry's face split into a messy grin. "Actually, it was Hermione and Ginny who told me I was, you know, gay. They gave me some advice, and, well, they were right."

"Oh," squeaked Ron.

"Yeah,"

"They're _scary _sometimes."

"Yeah,"

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Are you _sure_ that you're gay, Harry? I mean, things did go badly with Cho, but that's no reason to swear off women forever."

"I fancy someone," said Harry simply, letting the words fly from his mouth before he could regret them.

Ron's eyes widened until they were nearly the size of dinner plates. "It's not-" he glanced around quickly. "Me?" he said in a small whisper. "Is it?"

Harry's face twisted into a grimace, his eyebrows furrowed in disgust. "Merlin's saggy left bullock, no! Never!"

Ron jumped out of his seat. The old chair groaned in protest. There was a tremendous crash as he accidentally pushed his textbook off the table, knocking down his ink bottle in the process. An obsidian puddle proceeded to consume the majority of Ron's essay, but he seemed not to notice. "What the hell's wrong with me then? Why is isn't it me? It's because … it's because I'm a ginger, isn't it?"

Harry sat frozen in a mixture of utter terror and bemusement. "No, Ron, it's-"

"It's Seamus, isn't it?" he exclaimed, drawing the attention of the Ravenclaws, who had abandoned their books for the show unfolding before them. "I've never seen him bring a girl around. Or is it-"

"Ron, no, sit down!" said Harry, watching Ron's diaphragm rise and fall at a fantastic speed. "It's someone else."

"Who then? Is it a teacher? Is it Snape? It's Snape! Merlin, Harry, that's dis-"

"It's Draco Malfoy."

A tiny squeak of disbelief escaped Ron's lips before he fell into a dead faint on the library floor, ink dripping off the table and onto his forehead.

From behind the Herbology books, a blonde head emerged. "That actually went exceedingly better than I had imagined." observed the voice behind the hair. Draco Malfoy stalked out from behind the bookshelf, walked past the table of open-mouthed Ravenclaws, and dusted a kiss on his boyfriend's lips.

Harry grinned. "What were you expecting?"

Draco shrugged. "A few 'you pointy-faced git's and a well placed Bat Bogey hex or a thousand."

"You… ferrety… prat." came a weak voice from the floor. "I will hex you so hard your _grand-children _will feel it."

"Forgot about that one," said Draco. "See you later, Weasel." Grabbing a hold of Harry's hand, he dragged him out of the library.

"Shouldn't we wait for Ron?" asked Harry.

Draco pushed a lock of hair that was shadowing Harry's face. "The Weasel will be fine. Trust me, Potter. He's probably already over it."

Ron Weasley was absent in History of Magic that day as well as from dinner. Several hours later, he was finally coerced out of the library corner, where he was found, to everyone's confusion, shaking and muttering strange insults regarding ferrets under his breath.


End file.
